


Not today

by elisa_anya



Series: A Patient Archangel Waits. [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel in the future, F/M, lucifer/reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 14:01:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13272948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisa_anya/pseuds/elisa_anya
Summary: You've finished a hunt and now you're hiking your way down the mountain through the forest at night, when a snow storm hits and makes it all that much harder for you to continue. When you slip and fall unconscious to the ground, a reaper and Lucifer stand next to you, waiting for you to die. The Devil is torn: should he let you die or will he finally admit to whatever feelings he's got for you and stop the reaper from taking your soul where he can't follow? Can you admit to your own secret feelings?





	Not today

You’re panting hard, you heart racing furiously and you swear you can feel it beating all the way up in your freaking throat at this point. Your entire body aches, especially your ankle, which you twisted during the hunt just a couple of hours ago, and underneath your clothes you can feel the sweat running down your back, between your breasts and also down your forehead, despite the cold air that surrounds you. Every time you exhale, thick white vapor comes out of your mouth and nose, and travels up until it’s dissolved into the night. The cold wind hits your face and ends up giving you a headache quite soon, but at the same time you feel your head pounding with the heat of your moving body. You want to yank your scarf away and take your jacket off, but you’re smart enough to know you’ll probably freeze to death if you do that, or get a terrible pneumonia that will surely kill you in a couple of days.

Despite it all, you keep going, forcing one feet to move after the other. You know you still have at least two solid hours of hiking down the mountain before you reach your car, which you parked close to the camping site just two days ago. You decide not to wonder how stuck on snow the car must be right now because the prospects of either spending another night in the woods in this unforgiving weather, or digging the freaking vehicle out of the snow yourself with your bare hands almost bring tears to your eyes and it makes you even more tired just thinking about it. You’ve enough on your plate as it is, struggling downhill with your busted ankle as fast as possible, the flashlight in your hand not doing a really great job at illuminating the way through the dark forest, to add future preoccupations to the equation.

 _One life-threatening problem at the time_ , you think, nearly laughing because the other option is bursting out into tears.

Perhaps there will be someone still camping to help you get out of there, or give you food, or a bit of shelter. Maybe they’d have a phone that worked; your battery had died that morning.

 _With this tough luck, you can bet your cursed ass nobody will be at the camp by now_ , you think bitterly.

The forest cover isn’t thick enough to stop the ongoing snow storm that seems to be making a personal effort to bury your alive right there and then. The snow had helped you hunt down the wendigo you’d come to take care of, that’s true, but now it seemed it was also going to have an active role in your own demise.

The outside of your thighs are numb and you can’t feel them rubbing against each other anymore when you walked, which gives you the odd and uncomfortable feeling of either having lost them or being under the effect of anesthesia. Sometimes it feels like you're not walking at all, just floating through the dark, until your ankle kindly reminds you that _fuck yeah_ , you are walking alright, and it is _quite_ the painful business at times.

Your hands are so cold underneath your gloves that it hurts to grip either the flashlight or the stick your are carrying, but you need both desperately; the latter helps you hike down without falling on your ass every two seconds, and also test what really is on the ground underneath the snow, so you don’t take any false steps, if you can help it; there is no time to lose and you have no extra energy to fuck up with anything else this night. In fact, you are so exhausted, hungry and out of breath, your eyesight is starting to act out, dark spots here and there clouding your sight as if you didn’t already had enough trouble advancing through the night.

 _Keep going, just keep going_ , you think, drowning out the voice on the back of your head that was begging you to take a well-deserved break.

You try to think of your favorite songs, playing them on repeat on your mind over and over again, trying to remember the details of the drums and the bass; then you move onto the huge amount of food you are going to order when you make it back into town since you have probably burned a crazy amount of calories in this stupid hunt anyway (God, Dean was right, hunting in the wilderness _sucks_ )...You’d start with waffles, then probably croissants, tea, orange juice, then pizza and also pasta, then you’d see if you had any space left for dessert and probably order waffles again if you did. You think of how angry Dean probably was at you right this second, you replay in your head different scenarios in which he yells at you for being impatient and reckless and stupid, and for going on the hunt without them when they had _specifically_ _told_ _you_ to wait for them (but, really, how could you? You’d seen those kids heading out for a camping trip and you couldn’t just stand by and wait for the brothers in your motel room while these people died). Sam would pat your back and tell you he was glad you were okay and to not do that again. Eventually Dean would calm down, tell you you did good, but warn you again not do something like that in the future, to wait for backup. You think of your bed, waiting back at the bunker, where you have been living with the boys for a couple of years now. It’s not a great mattress, really, but right now there’s nothing you wouldn’t give to be lying there. You think of the TV shows in Netflix you haven't watched yet because Cas had asked you to wait so you could watch them together, but damn, he was always coming and going and you really want to catch up with your favorite shows. You think of anything and everything that might take your mind off of the _pain_ , the strain in your body, and the absolutely maddening cold that renders you stupid at times.

Then _he_ crosses your thoughts as they run wild freely. Blue eyes, dirty blond hair, a mischievous smirk, a hungry, dangerous look, manly big hands and -

 _No!_  your mind roars. _Don’t think about him like that! Don’t think about him at all!_

You quickly push the thoughts away. You never allow yourself to think of Lucifer… At least not when you are awake, which is when you are able to stop yourself. When you are dreaming, though, that is a whole different story… Your treacherous brain likes to do all sorts of things with the image of him when you aren’t in control. It likes to replay memories of the archangel over and over again, like a broken record, reminding you of strange shared looks between the two of you, as if afraid you’d forget him if the memories weren’t forced back into your mind time and time again while you slept. Sometimes your mind got creative and it changed and molded the memories into something else, something new. Lucifer would come closer, he would touch you, kiss you, grab you, fuck you… Damn, that one time you’d had an orgasm while you were sleeping, dreaming about him, had been fucking amazing, and something told you the real deal would be far better than what your imagination had come up with. You would bet your soul that Lucifer could fuck you so good, so thoroughly, he’d probably make you forget your own name.

 _Jesus, get a grip!_ you scold yourself.

But you were weak and tired and the wave of memories came flashing in. You had crossed paths with the Devil just a few times but, damn, they had all left an impression on you. It wasn’t just that he was incredibly handsome, or the fact that even though he was terribly annoying and sassy, you felt strangely drawn to him; it wasn’t even the way he looked at you, although it did all kinds of things to your belly, or the fact he had trailed his finger along the line of your jaw that one and only time he stood really close to you and then just walked away without so much as disarming you… No, it was the fact that, for someone reason, he had never even attempted to hurt you, not even when you were working with the Winchesters against him. You felt paralyzed in his presence, stupid like a teenage horny girl, and terribly confused. You were embarrassingly inept whenever you intended to confront him, and with time you started finding excuses to avoid helping the brothers in their hunts if they included looking for Lucifer. There was a dark side of you that wished you could explore whatever you were feeling, but you knew where your loyalty laid, not to mention that he might killed you if you tried to touch him with what he considered unworthy, disgusting ape hands. You were what a normal person would consider ‘a good girl’ (a _badass_ one, but a good one nonetheless) and good girls don’t pursue secret crushes on the Devil.

Huffing and puffing, you go on until suddenly you make that one mistake you weren’t supposed to do; you step on a small rock, one that easily gives away as soon as you step onto it, which causes you to slip, your bad ankle twisting again in a weird angle. You cry out in agony, your scream echoing through the forest. You collapse to the ground before you can stop yourself, letting go of the stick against your will as you lose balance, and start rolling downhill, also losing the flashlight at some point. Once you start, you cannot stop your body from following the rules of physics and gravity until you run straight into a tree. The firm body knocks the air right out of your lungs as you also hit your head against something hard and cold, probably a rock, who the fuck knows or cares.

For a long moment, time seems to stop and the absolute dead silence of the dark forest doesn’t help you snap out of whatever trance you’re falling into. The lack of air in your lungs is almost absolute and it’s suffocating, you might as well be under water drowning, it probably feels the same way, you figure. There’s a torturous emptiness in your body where air should be and you aren’t capable of coherent thought for a moment as your mind forgets what’s the word for what you even need. You feel heavy and you’re barely aware of your cheek pressed against the smooth, white snow that covers the ground and something deliciously warm running down your forehead and the side of your face. You gasp for air, bending over your stomach as if you’ve been shot. It takes you a couple of minutes to be able to breath again, a very basic human need that you’d lost for a moment.

 _Stand up,_ a weak voice urges you deep in the back of your mind. _You have to stand up. You can’t just lay here._

But you’re _oh so_ comfortable in the ground. Even against the cold, hard ground, right now lying down seems _so_ appealing.

 _NO! If you don’t get up, you’ll freeze to death!_ you argue with yourself.

You roll over to lay on your stomach and try to at least kneel on the ground. The simple movements seems to take forever and an alarming amount of effort. You open one eye, keeping the other close as you feel blood running down that side of your face. Your sight is blurry, even worse than before, but who the hell cares, you lost the flashlight, you’re as good as blind now. You struggle to sit back on your ankles, your body feels stiff and colder than ever, you quickly lose heat as if you’d been lying down for ages and not hiking down for hours just minutes ago. Your gloves are buried in the snow as you try to push yourself up. You try to stand up, putting most of your weight on your uninjured foot, but your mind decides to do a 180 degree flip that almost has you passing out in the spot, and you fall to the ground once more.

 _You have to move_ , you nearly beg yourself, panic really beginning to kick in after a few minutes of just laying there. _If you can’t walk, crawl._

You let out a sigh that ends up coming out as a desperate moan of pain, your breath hitching as you begin to drag your body with your arms. You try, you _really_ do for a couple of minutes, but not long after you’re panting and you are not sure anymore if it’s just really absolutely dark or you can’t see anymore, you’re so dizzy you can’t really tell. You want to cry as hopelessness makes itself at home in your heart, but you’re even too tired to do that. You are barely covering a couple of inches per minute, muttering under your breath, eyes closed.

“Cas… I can’t make it, Cas…”

You know he can hear you; he can’t fly to you but he can still hear your prayers. You feel terrible that he’ll have to pass the messages on to the brothers, that this is how you are ending things with them, but you need to say your goodbyes, you need them to know it’s okay, you love them, you’ve had a semi-good run at life, it’s okay to let go now…

You’ve stopped moving. A thin layer of snow already covers your head and the back of your coat.

“Just… Tell them I tried…” you mumble between short, tired breaths, not really sure what you’re saying anymore, you’re mind a little gone already. “I can’t move… can’t move anymore, Cas…”

You fully lay your cheek against the cold snow, you can barely feel anything anymore anyway. It feels kind of nice, actually, the pain has miraculously started to go away. Your body feels lighter and numb now that you’ve stopped fighting. The forest is quiet, apart from the soft whispers treetops make when they dance along in rhythm with the wind.

 _It could be worse_ , your mind thinks as it starts to wander. Your death could be bloodier or more painful. It could be at the hands of a monster. Or you could be watching someone you love die right before you go too. You’d rather die now, here, in peace, than be wendigo food, for example. You’ve saved the day, killed the monster, kept people safe, kept Dean and Sam from getting hurt too… This… This is fine. It’s a better ending to your pathetic excuse of a life than you’d ever expected, less gruesome and awful than you’d imagined. So you close your eyes and give in into the darkness.

“Tell them, Cas... ” you whisper as you drift in and out of consciousness. “I love you all… I… I love -... I love you... Lu-... Lucifer…”

The name rolls off your tongue, completely uninvited but sincere, and you’re too far gone, too lost, to even know what you’re saying anymore. And then you don’t say anything else at all.

There’s nothing but silence for a moment. It’s just you and the dark, the relentless snow that covers your body almost sweetly now, and the reaper that watches down at your silhouette, waiting patiently. She’d been following you for a while now; she had to give it to you, you were a fighter, you’d lasted more than she’d expected, but it wasn’t going to be long now that you’d given up. The cold and exhaustion, not to mention that recent injure to your head, would take you soon enough.

From the shadows, a figure emerges. A tall, handsome man walks towards you without difficulty, although his boots aren’t made for walking on the snow or even for hiking in a perfect, spring day. Not to mention he’s not wearing a jacket, just a unbuttoned shirt with a t-shirt underneath. Neither the snow, the darkness or the cold bother him. After all, he’s the king of coldness and darkness.

Lucifer looks back and forth between you and the reaper, his lips parting a little. The reaper suddenly looks up from you and jumps back a couple of feet at the sight of the Devil, gasping in surprise.

“Lucifer!” she breathes out, sounding more taken aback and alarmed by his presence than she’d intended. “What are you doing here?”

“She called me,” he answers simply, giving her a look that tells her her question was a stupid one.

“And you _came_ ?” she asks in disbelief. Sure, she’d _heard_ the human’s last word, but she’d never imagined the archangel would _actually show_.

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know _what_ to answer. _Why_ had he come? What did he want to accomplish by coming here? He had no idea what his intentions were, how to proceed now that he had answered the call, but he had been utterly unable to just ignore you. It wasn’t the first time you’d called his name late at night (although you didn’t know that); his name had escaped your lips once or twice before in your sleep, but you had never spoken his name in a prayer while _awake_ . And he could tell the difference, oh _boy_ he really could; it’d been something sweet and sad and full of longing and repressed feelings. It had sounded like a goodbye. He couldn’t resist himself, the curiosity or the delight that it was to have you say his name with that tone was too much to fight back, and he desperately needed to know _why_ you had called him like that.

Lucifer had not expected to see your bloody body on the ground, and had certainly not been looking forward to coming face to face with a reaper lurking over your defenseless body. He had most definitely not predicted the way his stomach dropped as understanding dawned over him. He hated his reaction almost as much as he hated seeing you like that; he was worried about you. He could lie to himself later, but right now, he knew he was worried about you.

He knelt on the ground beside you and took a closer look at your face. The left side of your face was covered in blood and he followed the trail to discover a cut on your head, under your hair. The part of your face that didn’t have blood was dirty too, covered in sweat and dirt, but he still had that unshakable truth in his mind that told him you were beautiful, probably the most beautiful human he’d come across with, and that wasn’t something he admitted to easily.

The reaper observed him, her eyebrows knitted together with confusion. She had no idea what was going on but damn, why couldn’t you just _die_ ? You and the _damn Winchesters_ , why could none of you just go in peace? Why were you deciding to make your death a dramatic event too? Was it contagious, after spending too much time with those two trouble-makers, the unwillingness to just freaking die? Did these people _not_ like the idea of a happy eternity in Heaven?

“I- err-” the reaper clears her throat and tries not to wince when the Devil looks up at her with a look of utter annoyance. “I- I’ve got this. She should be dead soon.”

Lucifer looks down at you once more before he stands up to take a step back.

He should go. He should really go. He should let the reaper do her job, take you away, and put the memory of you finally behind him. But he can’t bring himself to spread his wings and fly away, can’t leave you behind to rot in the forest while he gets on with his plans to end this goddamn world filled with despicable humans. He had been stalling and he didn’t like to admit it to himself but you had been a reason why. He couldn’t end the Winchesters or Earth for that matter without also getting rid of you, and damn, Lucifer couldn’t bring himself to hurt you. There was something about you, something about your soul, about the way you looked at him, the way your mouth opened slightly when your eyes met and your cheeks turned red, the sweet sound of your heart racing that time he had touched you… And then you went and prayed his name in your sleep like no one had ever before. He’d heard you call him, breathing a little heavier than normal, and he’d smiled smugly when he’d realised the type of dream you were having with him… But then you’d also called him with a gentle tone, something that lingered in his mind against his will. No human had ever spoken his name like that. Lucifer didn’t know what to make of it or what it exactly make him feel. He couldn’t hurt you but he had managed to at least stay away from you... Until now.

“Any time now…” the reaper mumbles, trying to fill the tense silence with small talk. Reapers have no quarrel with the Devil. It’s not their place to interfere with destiny or life for that matter, they merely take care of the dead, and Lucifer has never threatened them, so she really had no reason to be afraid of him, but his presence is still not one anyone looks forwards to. “This one won’t be bothering you anymore.”

Lucifer shuts her up with a warning look. He doesn’t appreciate the way she’s talking about you. Of course, she thinks he’d want you to be dead, but he doesn’t, he really doesn’t.

It takes only a couple of minutes, but suddenly you’re standing there with them, looking down at your body too.

“Oh, shit,” you say, sounding like you’ve missed the bus and not like you’re literally dying. “I’m dead, aren’t I?”

“Almost,” the reaper says, giving you a small sympathetic smile, “if you come with me, I’ll show you the way, [Y/N].”

You sigh and nod, then take a step forwards in her direction, but nearly jump out of your skin (which is funny, because you can’t, because you’re dead) when you recognise the voice of the man that calls you.

“Lucifer!” you exclaim as you turn around, clutching your chest like you’re having a heart attack (that, again, funny, you can’t, because you’re dead).

“You’re really going with her?” he asks you, eyebrows raised in surprised and eyes strangely pleading. “That easily? You’re not even going to complain? What about the stupid Winchesters? What about Castiel?”

You think about them for a moment, guilt washing over you, but you know it’s going to be worse if you try to stay. If you fight the reaper, if you stay, you’re going to become a ghost and that’s going to be more painful for the brothers to deal with than if you just go now, peacefully and quietly. Heaven is waiting for you, or at least you hope you’ve earned a place there. You know you’ll see them there again, in your memories, watching movies in the bunker, having a meal, the four of you together, probably something really nice like Dean’s homemade hamburgers. And someday, Sam and Dean will be there for real and you’ll be together, for all of eternity. Hopefully Cas will be able to return to Heaven as well, and he’ll pay you a visit.

“It’s easier this way,” you say, looking down at your shoes. “They’ll understand.”

Lucifer scoffs, folding his arms over his chest. “I can’t believe you’re giving up that easily! You’re the worst hunter in history! Do you have any idea how hard it is to kill a Winchester? And you're going to let a stupid mountain be the death of you?”

“Lucifer, stop it, you’re upsetting her,” the reaper intervenes, but both the archangel and you ignore her.

“Well, what else am I supposed to do?” you ask, raising your voice, pointing at your almost-dead body.

“Fight back!” he tells you, marching over to stand right in your face. He’s taller than you, so you lift your chin to look up at those blue eyes of his.

“What do you even care? Shouldn’t you be celebrating or something? Here, I’m dead! You win this one, Luce!”

You frown as the both of you engage in a staring contest, your faces merely inches away from each other. He looks angry, eyebrows knitted together, jaw clenching with unnecessary force, but his eyes tell a whole different story. There’s worry in them and you can’t almost believe it, but he seems somewhat hurt. But why? Why does he care what happens to you? Why is he even here in the first place? Shouldn’t he be glad you’re dying? One less hunter to go after him, right?

Not that you could have killed the Devil if you’d had the chance, though. That’s exactly why you ended up in this mess in the first place. You’d been running from the Winchester brothers, avoiding them, going in any possible hunt to have an excuse not to aid them in their search for the Devil. You loved them like they were your own brothers, that was the truth, but it was also undeniable that there was some sick, twisted part inside of you that just could not bare the thought of putting an angel blade through the archangel’s heart or throwing him back into the dreadful cage for all of eternity. You also didn’t trust yourself around the angel. You felt strange in his presence, a longing unlike anything you’d ever felt before crawled up your spine every time you locked eyes with him and it wasn’t just physical attraction, not anymore. You’d tried to convince yourself it was just the obvious handsomeness of Nick, his vessel, but a nagging voice in the back of your mind spoke truths you didn’t want to admit to. And there was no point indulging in those painful thoughts either because Lucifer and you… _that_ was a match that could never happen. He hated humans, and therefore hated _you_ , although if you were being honest with yourself, he’d had the chance to kill you before and he hadn’t. You’d always wondered why he’d spared you, you’d gone over that night over and over again, it just didn’t make sense. And now here he was again, not only sparing you but trying to _save_ you. Was this all just a hallucination, maybe? Maybe you weren’t really dead yet, just badly delusional with cold and fatigue?

Your eyes flickered from his beautiful blue eyes down to his lips. You’d fantasized about those lips many times before. You’d never really thought you’d have a chance to stand so close to him, but now that you did, your eyes worked quickly to memorise every inch of his face, every detail in his skin. He was more beautiful that you’d given him credit for, and not just sexy as hell. It made you sad that it wasn’t until now, in the end of life as you knew it, that you were able to stand this close to him. You wondered what things would have been like, had you had the guts to admit to what you felt for him before. It was terrible to want to be with the Devil but it came naturally to you, like you belonged with him. And if you were dying or if this was an illusion, there just seemed to be no danger anymore in indulging in this secret desires of yours...

Lucifer looked down at you as your eyes roamed his face. A small smile crept into your lips; you looked sweet, a little tired and sad. Finally, something in you was breaking, your walls were coming down and he got a glimpse of the adoration you felt for him in your eyes. It was the first time anyone had looked at him that way. He couldn’t help admitting you looked beautiful, more beautiful than any other human in the entire history of their species. He wanted to ask you to stay but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. He wasn’t going to beg; he never had and he never would. He didn’t know how else to ask you to stay, he’d never had someone he wanted at his side before, until now. He needed you to make the choice to stay because he couldn’t bring himself to ask for it, but it would pain him deeply if you left. He knew very well he would not see you again if you went to Heaven, Lucifer wasn’t welcomed there. If you died, he could go on with his wishes of watching the world burn, but that didn’t seem to be enough anymore, that wouldn’t bring him the peace he wanted. If you left, it would only add to the list of things that felt wrong deep down inside him.

The softness with which the archangel is looking down at you, mouth slightly agape in confusion and wonder, gives you courage to move closer. Without thinking, you raise your hand slowly until the tips of your fingers run across his jaw, the very short stubble prickling your skin. You close your eyes and stand in the tip of your toes, leaning forward to kiss him. It’s a soft, innocent kiss, but it means everything to you. It’s everything you’d ever wanted and it felt just as wonderful as you’d imagined it would.

Lucifer barely has time to close is eyes and lean into the kiss when you’re already pulling away. He looks beautifully stunned and you smile an honest, content smile.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” you confess in a whisper, your hand coming to rest to your side again. “I can go now.”

You turn and meet eyes with the reaper. She looks really nervous and gives you an anxious smile, pleading silently for you to hurry up.

“Shall we?” she asks, gesturing towards the woods, as if you should know where to go.

You nod and start walking towards her, but you don’t manage to take two steps in her direction before Lucifer’s hand is on your wrist, pulling at you.

“Lucifer,” the reaper calls cautiously, “it's time.”

“Not today,” he says with determination. You turn around to see a newfound resolution in his eyes.

And it was that kiss, really. That kiss changed everything, it snapped him out of his cowardice and his superiority complex that had always stopped him from seeking you out.  He couldn’t let you go, not now, not when you’d showed him what he would be missing out on, not now that you had returned his feelings with so much gentleness. No one had ever been gentle with him before. If you would had yelled at him, told him to fuck off, he would have done so gladly, but he couldn’t turn his back on you now that he was wishing for more so fiercely.

“She wants to go,” the reaper insists.

“I said not today.”

He snaps his fingers and the reaper is gone. You turn around, eyes wide with surprise.

“No! Why’d you do that for? I don’t want to be a ghost!”

“You won’t be,” he assures you, his hand coming down from your wrist to take your hand. “I can’t let you die.”

“Why not? Why do you care?”

He breaks the distance between you, his hand pulling a lock of hair behind your hair.

“Do you really need to ask?” he asks softly.

You want to say yes, you want him to tell your exactly why he can’t let you go, but for a moment you’re just lost in that sea of blue that are his eyes. He’s never allowed himself to look at you like that, and you recognize the same longing you feel for him reflected back at you in his own eyes.

With a snap of his fingers, your soul is back on your body. You shift on the ground, still unconscious, but alive. The Devil knees on the floor and picks you up effortlessly in his arms. In a blink of eyes, he’s standing in your bedroom back in the bunker. He lays you gently on the bed. You’re incredibly pale, your lips are violet and the surface of your skin is a mess of sweat, dirt and blood. He runs a hand through your hair tenderly, like he’s never done with anyone before, and you’re suddenly clean and warm, your ankle doesn’t hurt anymore and you’re simply asleep in your bed. He wonders whether he should stay or leave, but when you stir and start to wake up, he decides he’d better go.

You open your eyes and look around the bunker, absolutely confused. The memories of that day come back slowly and you’re cold just remembering what it was like back in the forest.

“Cas?” you asked, confused, but no one answers, the angel isn’t home. How the hell did you get back in the bunker, then? Did the Winchesters find you on time? You  are pretty sure you’d fallen somewhere along the way back to the car… You can’t remember ever making it to the vehicle.

You screw up your face in concentration as you try hard to remember, but you can barely remember tripping in your way back…

Your body doesn’t ache anymore but you’re still tired as fuck, mentally you are still completely exhausted, so you take your jacket and shoes off and get under the covers. You try to remember, but you can’t, and quickly enough to start to drift off…

Blue eyes flash behind your eyelids. Snow falls around you in slow motion. It’s one of those dreams that replay fond memories, you can tell, you’re still not fully unconscious. The man in front of you is sincerely beautiful. The expression in his face in invaluable, it’s everything you’d ever wanted to see and one of those things you never want to forget, although the memory doesn’t come easily to you, it seems almost frozen and blurry, hard to reach. Then you’re standing on the tip of your toes, leaning closer to kiss him… To kiss Lucifer… Lucifer...

Your eyes fly opened and you sit up on the bed, gasping. Your fingers brush over your lips and you can swear your lips somehow remember the feeling of the archangel’s lips on yours.

“Holy shit, I kissed Lucifer!”

**Author's Note:**

> Because some of you asked for it, I turned this into a short series of 4 chapters.   
> I'd love feedback, your comments or kudos will be appreciated!  
> Hope you liked it, guys.


End file.
